Revelation
by hummingyay
Summary: Those who think differently always end up dead. Nobody admits it, but everybody knows. - SasuSaku, Dystopian!AU
1. Prologue

I once read that springtime was a time of celebration because the arrival of new life. Things as miniscule as a cherry blossom would be venerated and all people from all walks of life would gather together to appreciate spring and rebirth.

That was a long time ago.

It's a new day in a new age. It's the Mangekyo Festival; today marks 60 years under Lord Madara's rule, where he succeeded in striking down the corruptive shinobi government our forefathers had created centuries before his intervention. Or at least that's what they teach us in school. It's the only thing we learn in school, and anybody who tries to teach or learn anything else...

...well, the Kage's guard don't take very nicely to different. My mother always warns me to watch what I say, but I really can't help myself sometimes. I haven't gotten into too much trouble, but since I turned 16 last week, Mother is terrified. Of what, I don't quite know, but the village's adults always get nervous around the time of the festival. I suspect it has something to do with my year in general.

People don't think I don't see them staring at us all. A passing glance is all I really need to see the pity in their eyes. It's always the sixth years at the academy who are always treated most carefully and are given these looks too. But none us (or the young ones, for that matter) know why. I suppose we'll find out at the festival later on today. But for now, I'll just have to find something to pass the time until we are all summoned into the square by Lord Madara.

I don't say anything to Mother on my way out. She's been ill the past few days and has taken refuge inside her room with my father. Sometimes, I can hear their muffled voices from my bedroom and sometimes, I can hear my mother crying. Sometimes, I pretend that I cannot hear them because if I don't pretend, I'll begin to get nervous myself. I shouldn't get nervous within the walls.

_Here we are safe_.

The walls surrounding the village protect us from invaders on the outside, assuming that there are any still living, since Lord Madara annihilated them all during his quest to liberate us all. The schools tell us that nobody is on the outside, but if that is the case, then why are the walls here in the first place?

My name is Sakura Haruno. I am 16, I live inside the walls of the village, and I want to know why everybody is so afraid.

* * *

**Notes: **This is my first story for this pen name coz I'm way too lazy to delete all of my previous stories and previous alerts/favorited stories/authors. Anyway, I wanted to take a stab at this Dystopian/Sci-fi/Romance YA scene.

Tell me what ya'll think.

- Jaz (:


	2. The Epiphany

Everybody in the street looks forward to the annual festival. What isn't there to be excited about? Vendors and dancers and games and food and cheerfulness that is _suffocating_. It's almost as if we were trying to convince someone that we're enjoying the festival. Every year is pretty much the same for academy students on this day: there's no school. Except for the sixth years.

I have to show up early for some odd reason.

"Honey, your father and I aren't going to be at the festival today, so go ahead and have fun without us," Mother says on my way out. I nod, because there really isn't anything else to do when your mother looks completely and utterly defeated. There's something in her disheveled blonde locks and the watering in her green eyes that tell me something bad is going to happen.

She thinks something bad is going to happen to _me_.

"Okay, Mom. I'll see you later then!"

Again, _what else is there to do_? I kiss my mother and father and tell them I love them before I slip on my sandals and exit the front door.

I could've swore I heard a sob emitted from my house.

.

.

.

I don't have many friends at the academy, just the few who sit around me in my classes, and the occasional bully that I get tangled up with. Nobody really pays any attention to me (once they become accustomed to my bright pink hair), and I don't really mind it now. I'm one of the first to show up for class; in the back corner of the classroom sits Shikamaru. He's the closest thing to a friend I have.

Maybe he's my best friend.

"Oi, Sakura. Did you do the homework?"

"Yeah. Wanna see it?" He isn't going to accept the offer. Writing is too much work for him.

"No. Too troublesome to move the pencil."

I plop down into the empty seat next to him and stare out the window into the crowding school yard. Sixth years drag their feet towards the school, most of them not even fully awake yet. Across the lot, I can spot dark blurs dancing across the school yard into _The Academy_, the school for the shinobi of our village.

Konohagakure is a shinobi run and governed village. All shinobi report to our leader, Lord Madara, who received the title of Hokage 60 years ago today. Shinobi are divided into ranks and are given top secret missions and tasks that can either hurt or help them in their ranks. That's about all we really learn about shinobi in civilian school.

The village makes a point to keep civilians and shinobi separated, so you only really see them guarding the walls or on their way to Hokage Tower, where Lord Madara lives. Fraternization with shinobi is strictly forbidden by the government, although none of us have the slightest clue why. Nobody has ever broken this rule, or if they had, they must have left the Wall into the outside world.

Iruka-sensei says people typically don't last half a day outside the walls, not without the training taught in The Academy.

"I didn't know the shinobi were also required to show up today," I said to Shikamaru. He doesn't lift his head from his arms when he answers a few minutes later.

"Everybody in their sixth year has to show up. Civs and Nin."

"I wonder why everyone's been so antsy today..."

I only know half of the answer: it's the festival. But what is there to be afraid of? I've thought this to myself for years, but, because I do know better, I don't voice these concerns. Shikamaru doesn't say anything else.

I lean back against my chair and watch everyone's facial expressions as they file into the classroom one by one. Whispers of discomfort have marred the once silent classroom, but nobody tries to strike up a conversation with their friends, like every morning.

Nobody is excited, unlike the other civilians in the street. We all know their cheer is feigned, anyhow.

In a tense silence, we wait for Iruka-sensei to arrive. Five minutes after the bell rings, the door opens and we all stand, just like we do every morning.

It isn't Iruka that enters.

This man is taller than Iruka, with silver hair sticking up haphazardly in all directions. His face is covered with a mask and a headband that bares the village's emblem in the center of the metal plate. The lone eye that we can see is half-lidded, almost as if he were bored by our apparent discomfort.

He's a shinobi.

The man is flanked by two other shinobi dressed similarly. They're both young, perhaps a year or two older than me. One has bright blue eyes, and the most genuine smile I've seen all day. The other young man doesn't look too impressed with us. Like the silver-haired man, this one takes one uninterested glance at us all with his dark, dark eyes. Then, running a hand through his shocks of black hair, he nods to the silver-haired man.

"Thank you all for showing up today," the stranger says, his covered lips curving into what I assume is a smile, "My name is Kakashi, and Hokage-sama has summoned you all today for something important. Now, if you'll please follow my assistants and I, we'll make sure this will be as enjoyable for you as we had planned."

There is something in the way the two boys behind Kakashi are suddenly alert and at attention that make me realize something. For the first time, fear pools into my stomach and I feel dizzy.

I grip Shikamaru's forearm and he looks back at me; we both look into each other's eyes and connect the dots together.

The fake enthusiasm, the looks of pity, my mother and father talking every night, my mother crying...the rumors -

Those rumors about this festival covering up something else is true.

Something bad is going to happen to us very soon.

* * *

hey ya'll.

- jaz


	3. The Candidates

Shikamaru and I are the last to file out of the classroom, ahead of the blond boy and his dark-haired companion. Kakashi leads the class down a series of staircases and corridors that I had never seen before.

"Where d'you think he's taking us?" I ask Shikamaru, who shrugs in return.

The alertness in his eyes tell me one thing: where we're going can't possibly be good. What could a group of shinobi possibly want from a bunch of 16-year-old _civilians_? As my fear begins to give way to my growing curiousity, I take the opportunity to glance around the halls we pass. Something tells me that we aren't allowed to actively explore our surroundings, but I still do it nonetheless.

It's not like it isn't anything I haven't seen before.

Posters of Lord Madara standing before the all-seeing eye, something that even the most fearless people in the village cower over. The eye, as told by elders on my street, was a gift given to a select few shinobi by the God of all shinobi, or the creator of ninjutsu. The eye gives its user incredible power that civilians can't possibly begin to fathom; one might even argue that the eye replaces the role of God in our world.

It's only a myth.

"What's only a myth?"

The blond boy is now walking beside me, staring at me full on in the face. I blink once and realize what I had just said out loud.

"Nothing important," I mumble quietly, not really wanting to make conversation with our escorts. After all, it is them who will be leading this to our apparent impending doom. The boy doesn't leave me alone.

"My name is Naruto Uzumaki."

"That's nice."

"That's Sasuke Uchiha."

"That's nice, too."

"You know, usually someone would reply with their own name," the boy - _Naruto_ says, staring at me oddly. From the corner of my eye, I can see that his companion, Sasuke, takes a quiet disinterest in the conversation.

"It isn't important."

"That isn't true!" he argues back, "A name could be the one thing that saves you when-"

"Shut up, Naruto," Sasuke snaps from behind Shikamaru, "You're going to get us both in trouble if you keep talking to her. It's no use."

"What's no use?" I demand, "Save me from what?"

Sasuke doesn't answer, and I quickly gather that he isn't going to answer me. To be honest, I don't even think he sees me, which suits me just fine. The shinobi don't look particularly sorry about scaring the living daylights of us all, and I am honestly beginning to feel more irritated than anything. One glance from Shikamaru tells me one thing: _don't do anything, Sakura_.

Remember: _they _don't take kindly to different.

Don't be different.

Steeling myself away from Sasuke and Naruto, I trudge on down the corridors and hallways for another 10 or 15 minutes. It's dark and cold here and the tension is so thick you can barely move through it, but nobody says anything. Our mingled breath in the small space comes out in clouds; some of the kids are close to hyperventilating.

Kakashi speaks.

"Hokage-sama, the candidates have arrived!"

.

.

.

He's a shriveled up old man.

60 years ago, Lord Madara might have been something to look at, but underneath all the unnecessary armor he dons, we can all see that he's just as frail as my elderly neighbor. His wrinkled face is somewhat hidden underneath the Hokage's headpiece and the long locks of silvery-white hair that cascades down his back. A single eye is visible from where I stand.

There isn't anything warm about this Hokage. The Hokage I know who comes to bless the festivals seems like a nice person; there's always a look of tranquility on his face. I've never been this close before, so maybe he's always looked like this before. Lord Madara casts us all one short glance, long enough to size each of us up without holding any particular interest for one single person.

I'm assuming that having an interest would be the bad thing I'm expecting. Who knows? There isn't really any other choice but to stay and find out.

"Thank you all for arriving here so promptly," Lord Madara says, "I hope we haven't frightened you. Sometimes, our protectors can be a bit...stiff."

There isn't anything sincere in how he is speaking. His voice is deep and rich, the depth of it vibrates through the empty room we're in and I can feel it in the soles of my feet.

"You may be wondering why you're all here, and the answer is simple," he continues, "Today, as you all know, marks my 60th year as this fine village's leader. And every year to commemorate, we hold an event. All of the shinobi participate. This event is an exam of sorts, to test who is the strongest in the ranks."

Exams to determine rank do make sense among the shinobi; however, I fail to see our relevance to this event. In the corner of my eye, I can see Shikamaru gazing pensively at our leader and I know that face he's making. He's _thinking_.

Shikamaru has the absolute worst grades in the entire academy; however, his reasoning is that the schoolwork is too troublesome for him to do. He acts like he's below average, failing to do assignments and constantly sleeping during class, but I've seen the way he plays Shogi with his father. I've seen the way he's won our games of Capture the Flag and Manhunt as children; there's no limit to Shikamaru's abilities when he actually begins to think.

And it is because Shikamaru is thinking that I know we're going to participate in one way, shape, or form.

"Civilian sixth years in the academy must earn their place in the village as a true Konohagakure citizen; this exam is for you all as well. You will be competing with each other against the shinobi class for survival in this year's _Chunin exams_!"

Madara Uchiha smiles at us all, positively glowing as the color drains from all of our faces. He acts as if it's a wonderful thing, these Chunin exams, but we aren't stupid like they probably think.

We know what this all means, after all we live in a land where this practice is expected to be quite common.

We, the civilians, have all been sentenced to death.

And they, the shinobi, have been charged with the mission to pick us all off.

We are candidates because we are all eligible to receive death at the hands of a shinobi. They are candidates because they are all eligible for the Chunin rank.

With a wave of his hand, Hokage-sama disappears in a cloud of smoke, leaving all the candidates in the care of Kakashi, Naruto, and Sasuke. Across from where we came, a pair of grand, ornate double doors open, revealing the battalion of sixth year shinobi who are going to kill us.

There is no emotion, no hint of conflict in their eyes, and I know that this is real.

We are going to die.

* * *

doing this instead of studying for finals LOL

don't follow my example. also, tell me what you guys think!

- jaz (:


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